Going through the 'motions
by mercuryflame
Summary: Sherlock doesn't do emotions right? Lestrade now knows differently...


It was with a heavy heart that Lestrade acknowledged he had not gained amazing powers of deduction in the previous week and therefore must once again prostrate himself, figuratively, before Sherlock and beg for assistance. In his limited spare time Lestrade mused frequently at the amazing phenomenon that was his remaining pride. Clearly it must be even more stubborn than the great Sherlock Holmes himself, not to have got up and fled every time the case seemed impossible and Lestrade had resorted to texting the infuriating genius.

And therefore, once again, Lestrade dragged himself reluctantly up the dark stairs of 221 Baker Street; contemplating not for the first time the idiocy of he 'the official' policeman once again pandering to the demanding 'non-official' consulting detective.

The door to 221B greeted him stolid and intimidating as ever and Lestrade paused to regain his breath and prepare himself for the mental gymnastics that passed as conversing with Sherlock Holmes.

It was with very little surprise he noticed raised voices filtering through the panelled wood, Sherlock and the good Doctor were always arguing.

Admittedly living with Sherlock, Dr. Watson must have plenty of things to argue about- Lestrade had considered John Watsons sanity in, even less frequent, idle moments. Rather unusually for their arguments Dr. Watson had his normally tranquil tone raised to an impressively military loud bellow.

"No Sherlock, not just a bit not good, very very not good…" Silence reigned and Lestrade pondered whether to just cut his loses and leave now. It must be a bad sign when even the good Doctor had resulted to shouting. Lestrade was sure he was not only Yarder who marvelled at Dr Watson's continued and unyielding calm even in the face of an insulting and shouting Sherlock.

"John", Sherlock's voice softer and more plaintive than Lestrade had ever heard it broke the tense stillness. The immediate response was brutal and Lestrade winced as the normally calm Doctor took on such a tenor.

"NO SHERLOCK NO, you've gone too far this time!" Lestrade heard the sound of heavy footfalls and then the slamming of a door. He knew intuitively that he did not want to bare the brunt of the Sherlock vs. John whiplash and was just contemplating immediate emigration to Tahiti when the decision was taken out of his hands.

The door opened violently to reveal Sherlock in all his glory.

Lestrade stood and tried to remember whether he had ever wanted to sink through a floor more than he did now. Sherlock packed the doorframe, his eyes filled with- well if Lestrade hadn't known Sherlock better he would have said – fear. Cool unflappable Sherlock Holmes appeared shell shocked and concerned. Lestrade had several seconds to ponder on this stunning observation before Sherlock finally focused gaze upon him.

"He says he'll leave… John says he'll...he can't!" Sherlock peered down on Lestrade from his gangly height, for once without a sneer or look of distain. Tilting his head childishly to one side Sherlock asked with cracked voice, "Can he?" The naked fear in Sherlock's eyes shocked Lestrade and he acknowledged that it must have been quite some argument as constant reference to the Doctors weight; height, injuries, family and worse had failed to receive more than a mild scolding.

It appeared that the self proclaimed Sociopath did indeed have feeling; but evidently only in relation to one person. What if the good Doctor should leave? Lestrade immediately dismissed the idea; John Watson had survived friendship and cohabitation with Sherlock Holmes for more than a year, it was unlikely anything Sherlock did now would drive John away.

Sherlock, the utter genius obviously could not see this and Lestrade felt inordinately proud of his personal Holmesian deductions. Should John truly have been leaving he would have a) left by now b) gone straight for the door (rather than trap himself in his room) and c) picked up his cane. Psychosomatic or not, Dr. Watson's limp still troubled him.

With these thoughts in mind Lestrade found himself leading a, worryingly docile, consulting detective to the sofa and from there proceeded to navigate the nuclear warzone that doubled as the kitchen.

Three quarters of an hour and 6 cups of rather dubious tea later, the small, bland yet vitally important figure that was John Watson entered the room.

The good Doctor cleared his throat and Lestrade was aware of himself holding his breath.

"Just once more Sherlock, this is your last and final warning!"

Sherlock didn't turn round or make any obvious response but Lestrade noticed that his shoulders relaxed almost imperceptivity. Dr. Watson must have noticed this too as he started collecting the empty mugs scattered liberally around the room and asked offhandedly,

"Anyone for tea?"

...

**Please review, but unfortunately be warned that the next chapter/ one shot not be for a while… I've got to find my writing pad… Sorry**


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